


open wounds and loose smiles

by roseandthorns28



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Alternative Universe - Superheroes and Villains, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, SHIELD has a Hydra infestation, The Winter Soldier is (not really) a villain, Threats of Non/Con outside Bucky and Tony but nothing happens, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, physical injuries, tony is still iron man
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2019-10-08 19:52:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17392649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roseandthorns28/pseuds/roseandthorns28
Summary: A betrayal from within SHIELD leaves Tony drugged, wounded, and on the doorstep of notorious villain: The Winter Soldier.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MassiveSpaceWren](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MassiveSpaceWren/gifts).



> Based loosely off of this [ prompt. ](http://wrensreblogthings.tumblr.com/post/181403875161/the-hero-shows-up-at-the-villains-doorstep-one)
> 
> Title from Prateek Kuhad's "fighter".
> 
> Art by the amazing [ MassiveSpaceWren! ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MassiveSpaceWren/pseuds/MassiveSpaceWren)

Adrenaline has brought him this far. Adrenaline and the boots and gauntlets (the only pieces of his armour he’d called for remotely because a) he needed them for his escape and b) there was no way he was letting his repulsor tech fall into the hands of people who so obviously had no scruples.

The boots and the gauntlets had given up the ghost one by one, shorting out and burning him with the heat of a malfunctioning repulsor. They’d had to be ejected as soon as he’d been inside the grounds.

They lay behind him like the world’s most expensive breadcrumb trail.

Despite his calculated fall – _lead with the shoulder, let the momentum roll you, don’t tense up_ – something went wrong somewhere because he’s pretty sure his shoulder was screaming with pain.

He’d almost crawled the last few steps to the door. At least he wasn’t leaving a trail of blood too.

(His knife wounds having sluggishly stopped spewing, blood vessels contracted due to the cold.  As long as it wasn’t snowing.)

That would just be rude. Especially since he’s come here unannounced like this.

He doesn’t even have to knock – not that he could with how his left hand is clutching at his ribs trying to hold himself together while the right holds his left bicep close to his body so he doesn’t jostle the injured shoulder anymore.

He’s pretty sure he’s been on surveillance ever since he was even a blip in the sky.

The door to the bunker slides open with a metallic sound – nothing that hints at misuse or ill-repair – and haloed by the light stands the only person his overactive brain had come up with who was rumoured to live right around here and allegedly had a personal agenda against cockroaches like _Rumlow_.

“Please…”

That is as far as he gets before he loses the fight with consciousness and sways forward, losing his footing, darkness swallowing him whole.

 

                                                                              

 

Tony comes to with a throbbing headache and a skin-crawling sensation of being watched. It takes him a bit of effort to force his eyes open and he blinks up at the grey ceiling, very nondescript, but thankfully whoever put him here was kind enough to keep the lighting dim – or, he amends as he turns his head slightly and takes stock of the uniform cement walls and the lower than average height of the room, he’s in a basement.

His back is resting on a cold metal flat surface – almost like an autopsy table. If his entire body wasn’t hurting like he’d just been run over by an eighteen-wheeler who’d then decided to finish the job and back up on him again, he might have given in to the urge to fall back to sleep despite the uncomfortable bedding situation.

Instead, the feeling of being watched has expounded in the few milliseconds since Tony opened his eyes and he turns his head to the other side and lock eyes with sharp, grey-blue ones – the only thing visible over a black face mask, framed by long brown hair.

The mask goes very well with the black leather tactical vest and the black tactical pants and the black combat boots and the silver of his eyes matches the silver of his bionic arm which is resting on his knee while the other holds a .45 Semiautomatic aimed towards him.

What the fuck is he doing in the Winter Soldier’s lair, beaten up and – he glances down – half naked?

 

Oh, right. Sanctuary.

 

He swallows, trying in vain to combat the dryness of his mouth – and Jesus, it feels like something died in there, did he puke? Please tell him he didn’t puke on the Winter Soldier – and licks his lips before attempting to speak.

“I’m taking the fact that you bothered to bandage me up as evidence that you don’t actually want me to die so can you please put the gun away and we can talk like adults?” His voice comes out rough and croaky and his entire esophagus feels like the Sahara. “Also can I please get a glass of water before I undo all your hard work and die from dehydration anyway?”

For a few seconds the Soldier doesn’t move a muscle and Tony fears he might have just made the biggest miscalculation of his life when there is a very obvious click of the safety being turned on and he rises from his perch on a steel chair, slipping the gun into the hip holster and walks the two steps to the metal table – gosh, this guy needs a damn decorator because this is kind of sad, even for a villain – and grabs the bottle of water.

He follows the Soldier’s progress as he comes up to stand beside Tony’s head and holds out the bottle. A nicer man would have probably opened it and put it to his lips or stuck a straw in it or something but then again, he didn’t come here for hospitality. Some might even argue that the fact that he still has his brains inside his skull and not splattered all over the Winter Soldier’s front lawn means that he’s receiving hospitality already.

Still, Tony is nothing if not marching to the tune of his on drum so he takes his time in shifting his weight to the side and propping himself on an elbow even as the motion jarrs his ribs – which yeah, definitely sprained if not cracked – and pulls at the stitches on his thigh. But just as he is about to push himself up, a hand clamps down on his shoulder and the result jolt of pain puts Tony on his back again.

“Ow- Jesus- What the fuck?!”

“Partial shoulder dislocation. Don’t put any weight on it,” comes the steady reply.

“Right. Well, even keeping my… peeve of having things handed to me aside, there is no way I can grab that and drink it all on my lonesome. So, you’re gonna have to man up and help me out.”

He doesn’t know if the Soldier is this hesitant to help him because he doesn’t want to get close to Tony and hence give him an opportunity to overpower him which sounds ridiculous because Tony can’t even sit up properly let alone take on the Winter Soldier.

Or if he’s trying to test how much mobility Tony really has.

Or if he’s just so awkward with real human interaction that he doesn’t know how to,

Tony suspects it’s a combination of all three.

Finally, the Soldier comes closer, wordlessly slipping his metal hand to support the back of Tony’s head and even the movement required to push himself up sends waves of agony through him. Slowly, the mouth of the bottle is pressed to his lips, the opening plugged about 3/4ths of the way by his thumb so that a trickle of that cool, soothing water drips into his mouth.

Tony has never felt thirst like this before, like the mother of all hangovers is dancing a samba inside his head – and jesus, what the hell was in those drugs they gave him – and he can’t help but desperately reach for more, his lips pressing against the thumb, tasting the leather of the knuckle gloves, tongue trying to push the blockage away as he tries to get more of that cool liquid into him.

The thumb doesn’t move but the bottle tilts a bit more and once he’s halfway through it, it eases up and Tony lets his weight fall back into the hand, panting, and glances up to meet the Winter Soldier’s unimpressed eyes.

He obviously did not appreciate his thoughtful gesture be disregarded by Tony giving his thumb an impromptu fellatio.

But he doesn’t really have it in him to apologise. Can’t even think of turning it into a joke. Not when last night is still imprinted on his memory.

 

_...maybe we should give something to shut that smart mouth of his, huh Rollins?_

_Well, they do say he’s a playboy. Will he be more plaint with a cock in his mouth, I wonder._

 

He can’t help his full body shudder and his breaths turn shorter. It’s only the sensation of the cool metal thumb sliding through his hair to press against the skin behind his ear that brings him out of what could easily turn into a panic attack.

He opens his eyes to blearily see the Winter Soldier kneeling by his makeshift cot with an expression of concern and his right hand wavering the air above him hesitantly.

And this – this is why he chose to come here, to beg for sanctuary from someone on SHIELD’s most wanted list, a ghost story who just recently emerged into the world, a highly trained assassin with upwards of a hundred confirmed kills.

Because the Winter Soldier only ever goes after operatives (SHIELD, KGB, or otherwise), after CIs, after state witnesses, after weapons bases and hidden labs, after people who seem to have some connection to something shady, something deep and well connected, that hints at there being a lot more to the story than what is being fed on the daily news.

Because Tony has testimonials that speak of the Winter Soldier rescuing them, from trafficking, from experimentation, hell, even from a hitman.

Because the Winter Soldier has never taken a civilian life ever since he’s come onto the scene.

Because the Winter Soldier was a name he heard pass through the lips of his captors with derision and disdain.

Because the Winter Soldier dragged him – Tony Stark, Iron Man, superhero extraordinaire and known SHIELD liaison – into his lair and bandaged him up despite the risk. 

Because the Winter Soldier patched him up around his torn undersuit and let him have the dignity of waking up in his own clothes.

Because the Winter Soldier might be the only one with the answers.

Tony clears his throat and squares his jaw. “Help me up. We need to talk.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks a lot to [ kimannhart ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kimannhart) for the amazing beta job, and to the folks over at the Winteriron discord who motivated me to get this chapter done. 
> 
> Also, yes, the chapter count increased so this is still a WIP but I promise the third is the last one!

Helping him up turns into the Soldier having to half carry Tony – and as embarrassing as that is, he can’t argue with the results since just putting his feet onto the ground made him almost crumple – to another room down the hallway that’s much better than the sterile metal one from before. It’s nowhere near the Ritz but at least it has a somewhat lumpy couch that is calling Tony’s name. He could kill for a hint of a cushion.

He has no idea how long he’s been lying on that metal table - something else he needs to ask the Soldier- and the accommodations in the underground interrogation base he’d escaped from weren’t the best. His entire body is hurting, and he’s feeling the aftereffects of the drug he’d been given, something like a hangover weighing down his muscles and throbbing in his head.

Once he’s placed – surprisingly gently – on the couch, he wriggles himself into a comfortable position and looks over to the Soldier.

“So, love what you’ve done with the place. Very apocalypse-bunker chic. No? Okay, well, let me start by saying, sorry to drop in like that. Didn’t have time to stop for a bottle of wine in between of being unlawfully detained and borderline tortured by some assholes I thought were on my side.” 

The Soldier snorts. “SHIELD is rotten.”

“Very perceptive of you. I didn’t even have to mention them myself. Guessing you’re also familiar with the name, Rumlow?”

“Crossbones,” the Winter Soldier spits out with enough vitriol to burn through concrete. He pushes his chair back and stands suddenly, his flesh hand trembling by his side.

Well, that struck a nerve.

Tony doesn’t know what, if anything, could set him off so he approaches with caution.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

“Tell me everything.” 

“Hold your horses, cowboy. I’m feeling like this whole deal is a bit lopsided. I’ve given out much more information than you have. Plus, I'm betting there's a lot you already know by virtue of me being a public figure and all so the scales are tipped pretty unevenly here, buddy.”

“What do you want?” He asks, turning around slightly. At least the shaking in his hand has subsided.

“Uh, let’s start with you taking that mask off?”

“No. Not happening. Next.”

“What, just like that?”

“Yes, just like that. My house, my rules.”

“Seriously? Fine, then take me to a computer.”

“You must think I’m an idiot. I know you can do things with a circuit board and a wire that would bring countries to their knees. There is no way you’re getting near a computer.”

“Oh my stars, I never expected to meet a fan here of all places.”

“Knock it off, Stark. What do you want in exchange?”

“See?! That’s what I’m talking about. This is unfair. It’s trampling on my civil liberties. You know my name but I can’t ev-”

“James.”

“-en see your - wait, what?”

“James. My name.” 

“Aaaah. Huh. James. That’s worryingly normal actually. I give it a solid 8 out of 10. I was expecting something really obscure and weird, like Abraxas or Wallace or something. You got a last name or a nickname?”

“That’s for the third date.” The Soldier - ‘James’ - replies, nothing in his posture hinting at the fact that he's said something that's not completely mundane.

“I – oh, are we flirting now?” Tony asks, incredulous and more than a little intrigued. This interaction would be so much easier if Tony wouldn't have to censor himself for fear of a bullet in his ass by the elusive Winter Soldier.

“No. You’re digressing.”

“Right. Demands. Uh, first, I want to see the rest of the castle. I can’t keep looking at these depressing grey walls; it’s like a sensory deprivation chamber. You know what happens to people subjected to sensory deprivation? They start hallucinating and lose their minds.”

“Okay, but you stay in the spaces allotted to you.”

“Fine. I want all my stuff back. I know you would have gone and collected my million dollar breadcrumb trail. I want – no, I need all of it back before I say another word,” Tony threatens, his voice hardening, reflecting his resolve. At least all this go-around, beating around the bush has helped him discover that James isn't going to gut him at the first sign of pushback. Not to mention helped buy him some time and try to squirrel out the Soldier's motivations for bringing him in.

“You can have it. I don’t need it.”

That pulls Tony up short. “Nobody _needs_ it, but everyone still wants it. It’s unparalleled tech.”

“I have unparalleled tech attached to me too. Don’t seem to do me much good,” the Winter Soldier grumbles, flexing his left hand.

“Okay, one, you don’t seem to be singing the same tune when you’re stopping bullets with that thing, yeah I saw the footage, and two, that is not _unparalleled_ , that thing has so many flaws, not to mention a distinct lack of an accessible and efficient method of self-maintenance. I mean what kind of  short-sighted, sadistic people….would… oh.”

_Oh. You too?_  Non-consensual body modification, let’s add that to the minuscule pile of shared life experiences. At least they have something to _definitely not_ talk about.

“Shit – sorry, I… I had no idea. If you need any help – I mean, I wasn’t kidding about the flaws. And I noticed the grinding in the elbow plate-”

“You’re shivering.”

Well, that’s one way of changing the topic.

“I’m not,” Tony argues just to be contrary even though now that he is paying attention, he can feel the chill in his bones.

The other man pauses in his tracks and squints at him through his curtain of hair, tilting his head in confusion. Tony knows he’s a dreadful assassin blah blah blah but right now, he looks so much like a damned puppy that he feels the inexplicable urge to coo.

“You are literally shivering. I can see you. Denying it isn’t going to change facts.”

“Well, sometimes denial’s all you got,” Tony huffs and he doesn’t realise how deeply the sentiment behind the words lances at him, tugging at the scar tissue of all his previous hurts – not to mention the fresh ones from last night.

“I’ll - I’ll get blankets. You can change after. Upstairs, there’s clothes,” the man says before turning around and walking out in a few quick strides. Almost as if he were running away from the tension of the room.

Even though his expressions are hard to identify, seeing as 60% of  his face is covered by the mask, Tony thinks he might have seen understanding in James’ eyes in the few seconds they were both quiet before his hasty exit. Not to mention, now that he thinks about it, the mask looks more like a muzzle and the thought makes his skin crawl. It brings his thoughts back to the arm. He’s sure that with the way it’s designed, and going by the issues the Soldier is showing, the design has a component of planned obsolescence which would require him to run back into their sadistic arms.

The implications of the Winter Soldier - no, of James - having been tethered to the creators and maintenance people of the arm in such a way screams of him having escaped from a nefarious underground organisation, instead of having defected from some shady agency or even a mercenary past.

That combined with the knowledge of the sleeper cells at SHIELD blares a neon sign that something very big has been operating right under their noses for god knows how long.

The reemergence of the Soldier brings Tony out of his contemplative spiral – despite having the modicum of reassurance that he’s relatively safe here, he’s still hyperaware of his surroundings –  and he sees the man carry a nondescript grey – _surprise surprise_ – blanket and another bottle of water.

James comes forward and unceremoniously wraps the blanket around Tony who had braced himself to feel the scratchy material against his skin but is instead cocooned in what seems like heavenly soft material. It could almost be angora wool. He knows it’s not, but it comes pretty damn close.

Huh, so the Winter Soldier likes soft things. Who knew?

“Drink. Then we go upstairs,” He says, holding out the opened bottle of water to Tony’s lips. This water drinking venture goes much better than the one before.

“So, how are we doing this? You have anything I can use as crutches? Or even a damn rolly chair? Please tell me this place has an elevator,” He asks after satiating his thirst.

“Elevators are a security risk. I can carry you up the stairs.”

“Wait - carry me? I allowed it that once because there was no better option but there’s no way in hell you’re carrying me up the stairs! What do you think I am, some kind of damsel in distress?”

“No, you’re Iron Man. But you’re also hurt.”

“Thanks, Captain Obvious.” Tony snarks, rolling his eyes behind the Winter Soldier’s back.

“I am not Steve Rogers.”

“Well duh. Wait, did you just make a joke?”

“No.” He replies in a voice so dry it could be a kind of martini. “Will you let me carry you or would you like to walk?”

“I don’t think I like the idea of a two-alternative forced choice paradigm.”

“I don’t care what you like. You came to me for help. You don’t like how I operate, you can go to some hero.”

“Their dance cards were all full, sorry,” Tony huffs, before relenting and wrapping the blankets tighter around himself, giving James a nod of consent.

“Good choice. Don’t think I wouldn’t have made you walk.”

“That’s rude and malicious, treating poor little helpless invalid me like this. I’m _injured_ and _helpless_.”

“I don’t think you’ve ever been helpless,” James says as he belies his words by effortlessly picking Tony up in a bridal carry. Still, he appreciates the sentiment. “And I’m a villain. I am rude and malicious.”

“Evidence suggests the contrary,” Tony can’t help but retaliate, suppressing a wince at the movement and how it jostled him a little. “You’re neither. I think jury’s out on whether you’re even a villain or not. You might just be more of a hero than most of us,” he adds.

At Tony’s proclamation, the unthinkable happens, and the Winter Soldier assassin extraordinaire stumbles slightly, and he might be wrong but is that a blush on the top of his cheek?

It’s more than a little heartening to see the hints of personality behind the Winter Soldier facade and he's got to admit, he's kinda liking what he's seeing.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! Unbeta'ed. Also yeah, I upped the chapter count again but I promise it's the last time? I say, like a liar.

“Right, story time,” Tony says once he’s comfortably situated on a couch in a room with a little more personality that the damn underground bunker. The journey up the two flights of stairs had been spent mostly in uncomfortable, weighted silence. The ease with which Tony was carried up the stairs with nary a change in breathing pattern suggests some kind of superstrength or mutation. Very little is actually known about the Winter Soldier’s abilities other than the fact that he’s very good at killing very many people with a variety of weapons. And at disappearing. 

Said soldier now sits across from Tony on the edge of a coffee table, his silver eyes fully focused on him. Despite the close scrutiny, it doesn’t feel half as intrusive as he would have thought it would.

“I got an alert for a meeting with Fury, didn't think much of it, he's got a tendency of wanting to establish dominance through these silly power plays. Thought I'll go, maybe break into their firewalls again for funsies right under their noses, poke around and see what pokes back,” Tony shrugs and there’s a slight snort in response to his expectant pause. Good. At least he has a sense of humour. 

“So, I go there and there's this sour faced agent, Special Agent apparently, heading the STRIKE team: Rumlow. Now, I've heard the name thrown around, apparently Cap and Widow have worked with him before so I went with him to where I thought the meeting was happening. 

“Instead, he took me to some underground room, had no idea it even existed. First thing that pinged my radar was the other three agents. I know I'm a troublemaker but they've never needed four highly trained operatives to contain lil’ old me, even in the suit.” 

“Were you in the suit?” 

“Well, no, but I usually keep it on sentry mode in the hanger. Plus, I always have a connection online with the Tower, I've got enough firepower to level a small country at my beck and call so I wasn’t very worried. Turns out I might’ve been a little too trusting because I was stabbed in the neck by a giant needle, lost all motor control, almost paralised. I couldn't even speak, let alone call for the suit. They stripped me down to the flight suit, took away the phone, the wallet, the whole shebang. Probably wanted to feel good about their tiny brains and tinier dicks because they started beating me up when I was paralysed. Fuckers were enjoying it,” Tony’s voice wavers a bit and he has to stop to swallow the bile a little bit. 

“They’re scum,” James growls and Tony takes the reprieve. 

“Yeah, huge douchebags, bragging about bringing down the Invincible Iron Man - which awesome name, I'm stealing it- and how they'll bring down SHIELD and all the other superheroes too blah blah world is ours for the taking… usual supervillain bullshit except none of them even qualified for villains let alone super villains. They were simply henchmen. Well except for the Rumlow asshole. He… he was a sadistic kind, fond of the knife.Uh, he was… yeah. Real creepy too. Said some shit about me being on my knees–,” He’s interrupted by a loud bang, causing him to jump, and he sees a large spiderweb crack running on the table underneath James’ left hand. 

“Sorry, continue.” 

“-anyway, uh, yeah, well, they underestimated me, like always. Thought I was helpless without the suit but the joke's on them cause I had just installed subdermal sensors to call the suit from two states away let alone a few floors apart... these things are so much easier when you own satellites… Anyway, things escalated by the time the suit came but I survived three months of 5 star care in the hands of the Ten Rings. This was _nothing_.” He doesn’t know who he’s trying to convince more, himself or James. It should be nothing, he was barely there for three hours. 

“Thankfully the suit – or well, the important bits of the suit that help me fly– came before they succeeded in removing the reactor… got a nasty shock the first time they tried, god, you should have seen that dude’s face. Anyway, I hightailed it out of there and made it here on half a tank of gas and a prayer,” He shrugs before wincing at the jostling of his injuries. Damn, he always forgets to immobilize himself when injured, his need for gesturing too great. 

Things are a little too quiet once he finishes and his fingers start fidgeting a little. James is not looking at him, glaring a hole in the ground between his feet as his hands are clenched into fists atop his knees. “I’m going to kill them all,” the Winter Soldier promises as he looks up and Tony can feel his own need for revenge, for decimating it all to the ground gain new fire at the strength of James’ conviction.

“You were right when you said this was a rot. It runs deep. Things have been - well, I’ve been thinking, gathering some information. Somehow, wherever I looked it led me to you.” 

James startles, “You think I am -” 

“No, I don’t think you’re involved in the sense that you’re working with or for them or any combination thereof. But you definitely know a lot more than any of us. I need your help, James. I need you to let me in.” 

 

 

Tony follows James’ pacing form with his eyes, almost getting a headache at the way he struts from one end of the room to the other, seemingly having an internal debate with himself. It’s like watching a caged tiger, with all the grace and power of a loping predator, the same energy.  
  
This had been going on every since Tony had asked for information. Instead of replying, the Winter Soldier had gone and dragged a sackful of his disassembled armour and dropped it next to Tony before muttering something about sustenance. 

He knows a thing or two about stalling for time. He’s not bothered much by it. Tony knows that one way or another, he’s leaving with all of the Winter Soldier’s secrets. Well, if not all, most. He trusts that James will realise that the best way forward is to pool resources seeing as it is evident that their shared goals of getting to the bottom of this giant conspiracy aside, they’ve both been personally wronged by whatever-the-fuck lurks in SHIELD’s underbelly. 

If not, well, Tony’s not above hacking into his systems with a little help from his trusty AI sidekick (not that he’d ever dare to call JARVIS that out loud). 

A few minutes later had found Tony using the emergency tool kit stored in one of the many hidden compartments of the vambrace, fixing the repulsors. Maybe he should have done a few more test runs before actually injecting the subdermals but well, like he told JARVIS, sometimes you gotta run before you can walk. 

The first thing on his agenda is to establish a link with J anyway possible. His phone is a lost cause and the panic button would have bricked it anyway. If only he can get just one ping to the nearest server, JARVIS will find a way to worm himself into the system, giving both him and Tony peace of mind. 

He’d been broken out of his thoughts and machinations by a dish of sandwiches appearing under his nose, held in place by a shiny metal hand. He hadn’t commented on how there was no accompanying plate for James himself. 

Which leads them to now, to Tony fiddling with his gauntlets, absently chewing on a surprisingly delicious BLT, and James pacing, shooting him, the workstation on the other side of the room, and his gauntlets alternating looks. There’s some grumbling going on under his breath but Tony – who’d once had an entire argument with himself and didn’t even have the excuse of being high – has no ground to judge. He knows he shouldn’t be gawking like that but it’s hard to look away from the mysterious man behind the mask and the myth. Well, not so much the mask, the black mask – muzzle– is ever present, something that makes Tony wary to put his trust in the man, can’t trust someone whose face you can’t see despite what Wilde says about masks and truth. 

It doesn’t stop his lizard brain from salivating over the grace of the movements, the strength evident in his form, the shine of the silver gleaming prosthetic; like a raven with a shiny object, Tony can’t resist the hint of danger intermixed with lust that the Winter Soldier and the pacing within the confines of the room induces. 

“What do you know about HYDRA?” James asks finally, coming to a stop in front of Tony. 

“Uh, super evil Nazi organisation of ye olde? Cap’s nemesis? The usual. Why, you think it’s them?” He asks, dropping his sandwich in the plate and sitting up best he can. 

“Don’t think, I _know._ ”

“Uh huh, and how is that?” 

“They are the ones who made me.”


End file.
